


A Court of War and Rage

by ShadowdaBookworm



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-02-07 16:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12845139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowdaBookworm/pseuds/ShadowdaBookworm
Summary: Rhysand is the son of the High Lord of the Night Court. His mother knows he will be hunted every day of his life. In an effort to give him the tools he needs to survive, she brings him to the Illyrian war camp to train. There he learns the skills that turn him into a fearsome warrior, but he also meets other outcast Illyrians... though it is a long time before they become friends.





	1. Chapter One

**Rhysand**

By the Cauldron, it was  _cold!_  The wind cuts straight through my thick clothes as I follow my mother to the center of the camp. Winged males loom over me, their muscles rippling under their fighting leathers. I admire the powerful wings and glowing Siphons as I slyly look study the warriors. Pride floods through me. One day, I'll be as strong as them.

As we approach the center of the camp, I notice an enclosed ring of wooden fencing. The clatter of wooden blades and shouting boys reaches my ears. My steps slow as we get closer. My mother turns around and beckons me closer, her eyes guarded. "Come, Rhysand." I make myself walk towards the noise, despite my fear.

Some of the Illyrians gathered around the ring regard me with mild interest. One of them opens the gate and my mother gives me a hefty shove towards it. I stumble through the opening, and my mother turns her back to me. I force myself not to call after her. Several younger Illyrians are in the ring, their attention focused on me. Some of them share the bored looks of the older warriors, but some of them gaze at me with malice and eagerness.

The male overseeing the training hands me a wooden practice sword and pushes me towards the center of the ring. Most of the others have turned their attention back to their opponents, effectively ignoring me. "Hey, pretty boy!"

I turn towards the voice. A pair of hazel eyes and a cocky grin are inches from my face. I study the boy's gaunt face and dirty clothes. His wings are tucked neatly behind him. He drops into an offensive stance and lifts his practice blade. As I lift my own blade, I watch the smudged face light up with eagerness. Maybe this boy will be my friend...

With a battle cry, my opponent launches himself forward. I block his first two blows, but the boy moves faster than anything I've ever seen. A sharp blow to my hands causes me to drop the blade with a cry of pain. The boy's face breaks into an even wider smile as he raps me on the knees. "Come on, pretty boy, pick up your sword."

I dodge the next swing of the blade and manage to grip the handle of the blade. I cry out again as pain explodes through my head. Stars swim in my vision as my head makes impact with the hard dirt. The practice blade flies out of my hand.  _Isn't anyone going to help me?_

The boy digs the tip of his blade into my chest, pinning me to the ground. I want to wipe that smirk off his face. "Do you yield?"

I nod my surrender. The boy removes his blade, and I clamber to my feet. My vision blurs as I lift my head. I make up my mind as the young warrior turns his back to me. "I guess you'll have to try again after you grow up a bit, pretty boy."

I launch myself at him, my fist making contact with the back of his head. The young Illyrian whirls around with surprising speed. His fist connects with my jaw, sending me sprawling back to the ground. I catch myself, but the boy jumps on top of me. His fists rain blows on me over and over again. Blood gushes from my nose and a drips into my eyes.

Several voices shout, and the weight on my chest vanishes. A rough hand drags me to my feet. I sway on the spot. "That's enough, Cassian! If you're going to fight, use the blades. Both of you, go bend over the bench."

I see where the warrior is pointing. The boy's hazel eyes glower at me as he stomps to the bench and bends over it. I follow him more slowly, trying to keep my balance. I rest my head on my arms, grateful for the solid surface. I hear the sound of the switch cutting through the air a moment before a sharp pain explodes on my backside. Cassian's face screws up in pain as a blow lands on his body. Neither of us cry out.

Both of us receive three blows. My backside smarts where they landed, but I refuse to complain. "Let that be a lesson to you! The training ring is for swordplay, not your pathetic excuse for brawling."

The boy, Cassian, glares at me before storming back into the training ring. I pick up my discarded blade and look around for someone to help me. One of the full-grown warriors sees me and offers to help me. He teaches me the basics of a defensive stance and a few simple sword techniques. By the time I can do them smoothly, the sun is setting.

The training overseer shouts, "Enough! We'll continue tomorrow at dawn."

I return my practice sword to the rack and trudge out of the ring. My entire body hurts, and the blood on my face flakes off. I catch sight of Cassian making his way to the edge of the camp, away from the stone houses.

I push open the door of the house belonging to my family. I sag in relief at the warmth from the roaring fire. My mother greets me with a warm hug as she studies me. "You're filthy! Go take a bath, and I'll fix you something to eat."

I fill the tub with warm water and wash the blood and dirt from my body. When I return to the kitchen, my mother sits a warm plate of food before me. My stomach releases a mighty growl at the scent. I devour it in minutes, savoring the warmth and fullness of my belly. After my plate is empty, my mother sets a book in front of me. "You're going to be High Lord someday, Rhysand. It's important you have an education befitting your rank."

"Yes, Mother," I say. I reluctantly begin to study the book, fighting to keep my eyes open. A flicker of movement from the window catches my attention. I see Cassian digging through the rubbish pile outside of the mess hall. He finds something and steals away in the darkness.

My mother must sense my inattention because she approaches the table, hand on her hip. "What is it, Rhys?"

"Why is that boy digging through the trash for food? Can't he eat in his own house?"

She raises an eyebrow at me. "What boy?"

"The boy I saw going towards the edge of the camp. Cassian."

My mother sighs. "Oh, Rhys. Cassian is a bastard born. He has to find his own way to survive. He doesn't have a house to go to, and he isn't allowed to eat in the mess hall. It's the way of the Illyrians. Finish your lesson, then off to bed with you."

I glance around the house. I fidget uneasily in my chair. Guilt racks me. The boy... he has to sleep in the cold. He has no mother to feed him good things or to kiss his wounds. I finish my lesson and climb into my soft bed, but I cannot fall asleep. Eventually, the light in the front room dies down. I know my mother has fallen asleep.

As silent as a night wind, I steal out of the house and make my way to the edge of the camp. If the patrolling warriors see me, they don't call out. I eventually find a ramshackle tent and recognize Cassian's sleeping form. I poke him with my foot, and he leaps to his feet. "What?! What's going on?" he cries out.

No one stirs at the noise. I shush him. "Shut up and come with me. You have to be quiet though."

"Where are we going?" Cassian asks, his voice wary.

I lead him to the door of my house and beckon him inside. We steal down the hallway to my room. I push him over the threshold and close the door. "You can stay here with me. It's warm."

Cassian keeps his voice low. "What the hell are you trying to pull?"

I lift my hands up as the boy steps towards me. "Nothing. I don't think it's fair you sleep out in the cold. There is plenty of room here for you to stay too. My mother might not like it, so we will tell her in the morning."

The door creaks open. A dark, winged figure steps into the room. A candle illuminates my mother's stern face. "Tell me what in the morning?"

I smile brightly at my mother. "Cassian and I are going to share a room."

Her mouth opens and closes a few times before she sighs. "Fine, fine. It's too late to discuss this. Young man," she says, turning to Cassian. "There is a bath in the other room. Go wash up, now. Up the stairs and to the left is a room you can have of your own."

Cassian slinks out of the room. My mother turns to me. Her lips are pursed. "Rhysand... I understand why you did this, but we can't support every young Illyrian out there. Please, ask me next time. Okay?"

I nod, hanging my head in shame. "Am I in trouble?"

My mother kneels next to me, drawing me into her arms. "Of course not, my son. You did a wonderful thing, but it isn't something we can do very often. Do you understand?"

"I guess so."

"That's my good boy." She kisses my forehead. "Now, go to bed. You have training tomorrow."

Mother closes the door behind her, extinguishing the candle as she does. I climb back into my bed and pull the cover over my body. My mind feels less weighed down, and sleep claims me swiftly.


	2. Chapter Two

**Azriel**

The light from the torch burns my eyes. When my vision clears, I see their leering faces standing above me. One of them carries a small pot emanating a sharp smell. “Come play with us, little brother.” 

I press myself against the stone wall of my cell, pure terror chilling my blood. “You aren’t supposed to be down here,” I say as bravely as I can. 

“We can go wherever we want, little bastard. You’re the one who no one wants to see,” one of them, Dreven, sneers. The other, Zaff, pushes me hard into the wall. My head hits with a sickening impact. I sink to the floor, the room tilting around me. The sharp smell grows stronger as Dreven yanks the lid from the small pot. 

“Hold out your hands!” Zaff commands. 

I lash out, kicking one of them in the shins. A grunt of pain lets me know I hit my mark, but it is too soon to be satisfied. My head bounces off the wall again. A swift kick to my ribs follows, knocking the breath from my lungs. “Give me your hands, you bastard!” Zaff yells again. 

He and Dreven hold out my arms and pour the sharp smelling liquid over my skin. “We’re going to play a little game, brother,” Dreven says with a dark chuckle. Fear spikes through me again, but I cannot move. “Everyone says that we Illyrians have fast healing powers, but no one knows how fast. Let’s see if you are even a real Illyrian, Azriel.” 

I thrash, trying to throw them off. Zaff pins my upper body down as Dreven lowers the torch to my oil-drenched skin. Both of them share a malicious grin before the flame makes contact with my skin. I feel the flesh melting as unspeakable agony crawls along my arm. Screaming echoes through the cell, and it takes me a long time to realize it’s mine. The pain goes on and on and on, and I scream and scream and scream. Blackness begins to form on the edge of my vision.

_ Can’t anyone hear me?  _

The sickening smell of burnt flesh overpowers the oil. The pain stops for a moment. A sensation of intense itching begins deep within my injured flesh. Zaff holds up my blackened arm and watches with fascination as the flesh begins to heal itself. Dreven pours more oil onto my healing arm. I let out another howl of agony. “You’re doing good, Azriel. Less screaming, please. It’s annoying.”

My jaws are wrenched open and a foul tasting cloth is stuffed in my mouth. I let out another wail as the flames make contact with my skin again. The gag absorbs the sound, but it fills my mind.  _ I can’t bear this! Mother above, please end this pain. End it! Someone help!  _

Loud voices and clamoring footsteps can be heard outside of the door. Zaff and Dreven exchange looks of horror as more light floods the small cell I call home. The sensation of the fire lifts from my skin. I watch through blurring vision as my brothers are pulled off of me. One of the guards glances down at me in pity before I am lifted into his arms. 

My vision darkens, and I fade into a deep pit of blackness where the echoing screams or burning flames or the smell of singed skin and hair can follow me. 

⧪

I am surrounded by darkness on all sides. The absence of light comforts me. It means I am alone, but I have never been lonely in this place. The shadows whisper to me, but I haven't always been able to decipher what they say. Until now. 

My step-mother thinks I will break down in this pit. Perhaps something inside of me did break when I was burned. My instincts roar at me to fight and feel the wind under my wings, but the shadows that have become my friends whisper to me.  _ Patience,  _ they tell me.  _ The darkness cannot imprison you.  _

So, I wait. Days pass and a healer comes in to check the progress of my burns. “You will scar,” she tells me. “Your arms will never fully heal, but you didn't lose any function in them.”

Eventually, the healer stops coming. The bandages have been removed. In the single hour of light I am permitted, I see the red, swirled skin. My brothers smirk every time they see the scars. 

_ Let them smirk. They don't know what they awakened inside of me. Let them think they have won. Someday, I'll show them who really won that day. _


	3. Chapter Three

**Cassian**

I can't remember the last time I woke up so warm. No biting wind wakes me this morning. Instead, it is a gentle shaking of my shoulders and a warm female voice. “Cassian, get up. It's time for breakfast.”

My eyes open to see Leina, that twerp’s mother, standing over me. I climb off the floor, getting to my feet quickly. I eye the bed with distaste. I almost drowned in the softness of it. She chuckles at my face. “I felt the same way too. You'll grow used to it. That bed is yours for as long as you want it.”

I don't smile or respond. This has to be some kind of sick prank. Leina reminds me to hurry up and exits the room. I pull on my frayed but clean clothes and descend to the ground floor. The fire warms the entire room. Rhysand shovels food into his mouth as I cautiously approach the table. 

“Sit,” the female commands. She places a loaded plate in front of me, and I seize it the moment she removes her hand from it. The food is gone in under a minute. Crumbs cover my tunic and face, but I don’t care. Rhysand gapes at me. 

“Cassian, no one is going to take your food from you. You're an Illyrian, not a savage boy. Next time, use your fork please.”

“No one else cares how I eat,” I retort. 

Leina places a hand on her hip. “I care. You are in my home, eating at my table. It's time you learned some manners.”

For the first time in years, I feel cowed. Her piercing blue eyes bore into me, waiting for my answer. I heave a sigh. “Yes, ma’am.”

Rhysand says nothing as he quietly finishes his breakfast. His mother kisses him on the cheek before pushing him towards the door. I walk past her and race to the training ring. It must have rained in the night. Frigid mud splatters from my boots. 

I pick up my practice sword, eager to exchange blows with the pretty boy. He enters the ring a few minutes after I do, and his hands shake slightly as he grabs a weapon. I approach him, putting all of my bravado forward. 

“Hey, pretty boy, I want a rematch.”

Rhysand turnsthose violet eyes towards me. Irritation washes through me at the sad confusion in his eyes. “I thought we were friends.”

“I don't have any friends,” I declare bravely. “I don't need friends.”

The confusion vanishes and is replaced with anger. Without warning, Rhysand lunges forward, sweeping low towards my legs. He moves so slowly. I'm able to block the next several blows, but he's better than yesterday. 

After several minutes, I grow bored. I feint right, causing the little half-breed to block the incoming blow before lowering the sword and knocking his legs out from under him. I dig my sword into his chest again. “Do you yield?”

A glowering stare is my only answer. I remove the sword and offer him my arm.  Rhys ignores it and scramble to his feet . He drops into a fighting stance again. His violet eyes spark with determination. “Again. Fight me again.”

“You’re not good enough to win against me, kid,” I drawl out, turning my back to him. A sharp blow to my head is my answer. The boy leaps back as I bring my blade swinging down at him. He dodges out of the way. He lifts his sword to swing, but I see his eyes staring at my exposed leg. I block the blow and shove him. Rhysand loses his balance and falls into a heap on the ground. 

Once more, I push the tip of the blade into his chest. “Do you yield?”

“I want you to show me how to fight!” he spits out. 

“No,” I say flatly. “Get someone else to teach you.”

I push him down into the mud before turning on my heel and stalking away.  _ Stupid little idiot! I’m not going to teach him how to fight. He’s too weak. Friends? Who is he kidding? _

I challenge one of the older Illyrians, wagering his nightly rations on the outcome. I feel that intense gaze on me for the rest of the day as I win fight after fight. I collect my food from the losers and return to the house. It beats sleeping under a scrap of cloth, especially as the wind has picked up. 

Leina greets Rhysand and I at the door. Both of us are splattered with dried mud. She rolls her eyes and ushers us into the tubs waiting by the kitchen stove. She eyes my armful of food, but says nothing. I steal up to my bedroom and hide the pile in various places around the room. 

The little kid is already bathed and studying when I return to the kitchen to bathe. Clean clothes are hanging over a chair by the oven. “Those should fit you, Cassian,” Rhysand’s mother calls from the other room. I eye them with distaste, but they are warm and clean and… new. I’ve never had new clothes. 

The material is softer and thicker than any of the scraps I’ve won off of the other boys. I quickly wash the mud off and don the new clothes. They are a perfect fit. I take the older clothes from where they lay on the floor and throw them into the fire. A plate of food is placed in front of me when I sit down at the table along with a fork and a knife. 

A stern look from Leina prompts me to tentatively pick up the fork and use it to eat the food. My hands handle the utensil clumsily, but I manage. “It’s important that you learn your lessons as well, Cassian.”

The female holds out a book to me. I look from it to her. “Why? I’m a bastard-born. I’ll never need to read or write letters. I’ll be a common foot soldier forever… if they even let me do the Rite.” 

“It’s important to train your mind as well as your body,” Leina says. “It won’t be hard. I think you should try.”   


“I don’t even know how to read!” I snap. Rhysand shoots me a sad look, but he turns away when he sees the glare I give him. “It’s too hard for me to learn anyways.”

Leina’s voice is soft. “No, it won’t be. I will help you.”

“I don’t want your help! I don’t want anyone’s help!” I blink back the hot tears stinging my eyes. “No one cares enough to help me! I wish you would just leave me alone!”

Warm arms envelop me, drawing me close to Leina. “Cassian, please, let me help you. I care about you, even if you don’t want me to. The door is always open, if you feel you would be happier elsewhere. Stay or go, the choice is yours.”

I give myself one moment to savor the warmth and comfort of her arms before I push myself off of the chair. “I’m going to bed. Good night.” Hurt flashes across her face before she steps aside and bids me good night. Rhysand says nothing.  I climb the stairs to my cold and dark bedroom.  _ Why can’t it be my own mother embracing me, keeping me fed and warm? What did I do that would make her abandon me like this?  _ The dark thoughts swirl around and around in my mind until I collapse onto the suffocating mattress with exhaustion.


	4. Chapter Four

**Azriel**

Every day, I grow stronger. Every day, my emotions morph into a quiet calm. The shadows of my cell sing their sweet melodies in my ears, comforting me. My mother hugs me tightly, tears pouring down her face, as I am dragged from her arms and back into the darkness. I say nothing. I offer no resistance.

Let them think me weak. Let them believe they have broken me. Let them forget I am strong. One day, I will show them. One day, I will have my vengeance. The shadows whisper secrets to me, feeding me information of the comings and goings of the keep. 

I learn I can observe through the shadows as well. In the blackness of my cell, I begin to stretch and move the way I watch the soldiers. My wings brush the walls of the cell, but I push them out to strengthen them. I must grow stronger. 

I lose count of the days as I work my body in the darkness. The ragged tunic and pants grows tighter with each passing week. The shadows begin to follow me into the light, wrapping around me body like another set of clothes. I ignore the strange looks my father’s wife and other sons give me as I pass by them. One week my mother presents me with a new black tunic and pants. 

“I made these for you, my son. You have gotten so big.” I offer her a smile of gratitude and don the new clothes while the guard is outside the door. She hides my old ones in a pile of mending that grows larger each time I visit her. For the first time, I notice how pale she has become. Bruises mar her arms and face. 

“What happened to you?” My voice creaks from disuse. “Why are you covered in bruises?”

My mother glances nervously at the guard supervising our visit. He glares at us both. I put my hand over my mother's and squeeze. She cannot answer with that soldier listening. “Thank you for the gift.”

The door swings open, revealing two more guards. The soldier grabs my shoulder roughly. “Come on, little bastard. Let's go.”

Surely it hasn't been an hour yet. I drink in my mother's face before I am pulled from the room. The thud of the bolt sliding into place echoes in my mind. I had no idea she is as much a prisoner as I am. An icy calm settles over me as I am thrown into my own cell. 

The lock on the door slides into place. Rage ripples through me. I want to rip the door down piece by piece, break apart these walls, and fly into the sky with my mother… but I’m not strong enough.  _ Not yet.  _

The shadows ripple around me, sensing my anger. The entire cell comes alive with the writhing tentacles of darkness, ready to do my bidding. Whispers come to me from all directions, all of the voices blending together. The shadows wrap themselves around me, pulling me with them to my mother’s room. I need to keep an eye on her. 

I spend the rest of the day watching my mother’s deft fingers mending tunic after tunic. No one enters her room, but I remain on my patient vigil. When the sunlight leaves her room, she climbs into the small bed shoved into the corner. I watch my mother sleep until… the grinding of the lock catches my attention. 

Light from the hallway spills into the room. My mother lifts her head, a look of fear on her face. I recognize the figure of my half-brother, Dreven, in the doorway. “Good evening,” he says with mocking politeness. A resigned expression darkens my mother's usually bright face. 

Dreven walks to the bed, shrugging off his tunic. Once he is bare, he climbs into the bed with my mother. She casts her eyes downward as Dreven begins undressing her and throwing her clothing onto the floor. In the faint light from the window, I see more bruises and cuts coloring my mother’s back, neck, and arms. That icy rage courses through me again at the sight. 

Under the blankets, I watch Dreven climb on top on my mother, pinning him underneath of her. His hands hold her arms tightly. He begins thrusting forward rapidly, his breathing picking up speed. He leans to brush his mouth against her neck. 

I feel confused. I don’t understand what is happening. He doesn’t seem to be hurting her, but tears stream down her face. I cannot call out to her in this form, but the shadows respond to my anger. One of them lashes out at my half-brother, but it goes right through him.

After several minutes, Dreven groans loudly and stills. His hands have left fresh marks on her arms. Clambering out of her bed, he gives my mother a satisfied smirk before climbing out of her bed and putting his clothes back on. Tears continue to stream down my mother’s beautiful face. I reach out again, one of the tendrils wiping the tears from her eyes. She sits bolt upright at the contact, searching the room. Her eyes pass over me several times, but she does not see me. Quickly, I withdraw, willing myself back into my body. 

I have no explanation for the wrath that consumes me in those moments. The feeling unnerves me, for I am not used to strong emotions. Once more, the darkness in my cell comes alive, roiling around and around me. All I know is that Dreven was hurting my mother, and she was crying.  _ I swear by the Cauldron, I will make them pay for what they have done to me and to my mother. I swear it.  _


	5. Chapter Five

**Rhysand**

“Come on, Rhys!” Cassian taunts. “You’re fighting like a novice!” 

For the third time this morning, Cassian knocks me on my ass and I slam into the freezing mud. For the third time this morning, he stands above me, gloating his victory. His words are meant to inflame me, to stoke the anger I feel bubbling inside of me, but I soothe it, hone it. I rise to my feet, running through my mistakes again and again. 

Two years have passed since the day I first entered this ring. It’s time I proved what I have learned. Cassian laughs again. Before he can move, I launch myself at him. He brings his blade up to parry my own blow, and our swords meet with an ear-splitting grind. The laughter dies from my rival’s hazel eyes, and I press my advantage. 

Cassian’s feet slip in the mud, causing his stance to shift enough I am able to unbalance him. I throw my full weight behind the next blow, but my opponent rolls out of the way. I fall forward, face first, into the ground. 

Cursing and wiping the muck from my face, I turn onto my back. Cassian extends his hand to me, an offer. I clasp his arm and he pulls me to my feet. “Not bad, for a novice.”

I snarl at him, but the training overseer calls out, ending practice for the day. Exhaustion weighs me down to my frozen bones as Cassian and I tramp to my mother's house. She stops us in the doorway at the sight of us coated head to toe in dried mud.

“Take those filthy things off!” she exclaims. “I spent all day cleaning up the mud you two tracked in yesterday. Go wash them off in the stream.”

“Mother, we’ll freeze to death!” I protest.

“You won’t freeze to death giving your clothes a quick wash,” she says firmly and closes the door.

Cassian grumbles under his breath about impossible females, but we both make our way to the stream. The frigid water instantly numbs my hands as I plunge them into it. I hear footsteps and a laugh behind me. “We’ll be out here all night if we do this your way. I’m getting in.” 

I watch him wade into the stream, fully clothed. Goosebumps break out all over his body as his feet enter the water. “I-it’s n-not too b-bad,” he chatters. I laugh as he shivers violently. Cassian plunges his entire body into the water and jumps out immediately. “Come on, Rhys, I don’t want to be out here all night.”

“No way! I’m not getting in there!” I strip off my outer shirt and dip it into the water. The mud swirls away in the current. I lift the dripping shirt out and hang it on a nearby log. Cassian lets out an impatient sigh. 

“Come  _ on! _ Why do you always have to be such a big baby?” Cassian calls from the water. I hear him splashing closer to me before a wave of frigid water hits my head and torso. My body locks into place before I begin to shake uncontrollably. “You’re already wet now, you might as well take the entire plunge.”

I look up to where Cassian stands over me, hands on his hips and his face spread out in that damned arrogant grin. “Go to hell, Cassian!” I hiss through my clenched jaws. I rise to my feet and tackle him. The water swallows both of us.

The shock of the temperature knocks the air from my lungs with considerable force, and I try to take a deep breath. Water rushes down my throat, freezing my insides as well. I feel Cassian move out from under me and break the surface of the water. Without him, I begin to sink to the bottom, my body shivering and shaking. Panic sets in as I begin flailing wildly, searching in the dark, frozen water for anything to grab onto. 

Rough hands grab my hair and drag me up, up, up until my head breaks the surface. Several angry voices surround me as those hands haul me to the bank. I cough and sputter before vomiting water onto the sand. Several pairs of boots leap back until I finish. 

“What in the hell were you thinking?” The voice belongs to the camp lord. I can hardly hear him over the rattling of my teeth. Cassian kneels on the bank next to me, avoiding my eyes. “You stupid, reckless fool! You could have drowned! I  _ should  _ have let you stay under there!” 

I lay in the sand, my muscles aching from the shaking, barely acknowledging the tirade going on above me. A short time later, I hear Cassian grunt in pain. The camp leader raises his arm, and the switch comes down on his back again and again and again. 10 lashes, but Cassian refuses to make another sound. When he approaches me, I can’t muster the strength to crawl away. 

The first blow sends a line of fire down my back. I let out a sharp cry.  Each blow lands in a different place, spreading the pain over my entire back. Tears freeze on my cheeks, but, like Cassian, I hold the sounds in tightly. When I receive my 10 lashes, the gathered crowd disperse. “Both of you are on chore duty for a week. Get back home before you freeze to death.” 

Cassian storms off to the house, leaving me lying in the sand. Despite the convulsing of my limbs, I manage to make my way to the house. My mother greets me at the door and immediately peels my sopping shirt off and wraps me in a blanket. 

I am placed on a stool in front of the fire. Cassian shivers next to me, shooting nasty looks in my direction every so often. My mother hands us both a mug of steaming, hot tea. 

My shivering continues, but the fire and tea lessens them. Cassian gulps his tea quickly and stands. “Good night,” he says flatly before he goes into his room and closes the door. 

My mother shakes her head and sighs. “Rhys, are you alright?”

I shake my head, squashing down the lump in my throat. “I don't think it's fair that Cassian was punished too. I'm the one who started the fight.”

“Cassian knows better than to go into the river! And so should you!” my mother snaps. “By the Cauldron, Rhys! You could have drowned!” 

I glare into the fire. “He's mad at me now, and I hate how bad I feel. I want him to be my friend.”

My mother wraps her arms around me. “I know. Someday, you will be. Give it time, son.” 

I nod, but I don't believe her. I admire Cassian. I look up to him. The hurt is from his disappointment. His anger. I tell my mother I'm going to bed. She hands me a set of warm bed clothes and I go into my room. 

The world grows darker as I lay in my bed, waiting for the main room to grow silent. Hours later, the candles are blown out and the room goes silent. I wrap myself a shield of hard air and climb through my window. 

The shield protects me from the frigid air as I fly up to Cassian’s window. Candlelight still illuminates the frost coated panes. I tap softly on the glass. A few seconds later, the window slides open. Before he can protest, I fly in. 

“What thehell are you doing here?” Cassian whispers. “Are you trying to get me in trouble  _ again?”  _ His hazel eyes glint with fury. 

“No, I didn't,” I mumble. “I wanted to come apologize.”

“Apology  _ not  _ accepted. Get out!” 

His words land like blows. “Cassian, please, give me a chance to explain.”

“No! Your stupidity got me in trouble too!” His voice is cold. “Now,  _ get out!”  _

“I didn't mean to get you in trouble!”

Cassian shoves me towards the window. I stumble back a step. “Get out and leave me the hell alone. Now.”

I take one look at the burning fury in his hazel eyes and slip out the window. I hear the lock click before I hit the ground. My mother stirs when I enter the house, but she doesn't get up. I sneak back into my room and fall into a fitful sleep.


	6. Chapter Six

**Azriel**

I bark out a curse as my head collides with the stone of my cell walls. I rub the throbbing place and resume my pacing. Five steps and turn, five more steps and turn. The thick walls press tight against me, threatening to suffocate me. 

Whispers fill the darkness, feeding me bits of information. My father's entire keep hides my shadows, and all of them watch and listen for me. My agitation makes them restless. I seat myself on the cold stone floor despite the roaring of my blood and meditate. 

I travel down one of the tendrils to my mother's room. The sound of her quiet sobs hits me before I find her laying on her bed, clutching her stomach. I try to reach out and comfort her before I remember I am nothing more than a wisp of darkness and thought.

I withdraw, my temper raging inside of the cage I keep locked tight. The past two years in this dark place has allowed me to grow close to my shadowy friends, but my moods affect them. I lose control of them the more I allow my anger to control me. 

The lock in my cell door grinds open. I clamber to my feet as the guard's face appears in the doorway. He holds his torch aloft, but the flickering light does not penetrate the darkness of my cell. I march out in front of him. He leads me to the small courtyard where I am allowed out for an hour. I glimpse up at the sky, savoring the beauty of the stars and half moon. 

A tugging sensation on my ragged tunic catches my attention. No one stands behind me, but the hairs on the back of my neck rise.  _ Danger, danger, danger.  _

I study the sky above and the rooftops surrounding the courtyard. Nothing. The guard yawns by the door, but my anxiety only grows. I feel a pull on the net surrounding my mother… someone is approaching her. 

The shadows whisper to me it is a female… it is Lady Keloe, the wife of my father. I settle myself beneath a tree, setting an shield of darkness around me, and follow the tendril so I can observe. 

_ The door creaks open, bathing the small bed with faelight. My mother's eyes crack open before squinting against the brightness. “My… my lady…” my mother whispers. Her voice shakes with barely repressed fear.  _

_ Keloe steps into the room, leaving the guard accompanying her outside of the door. Her sour face hardens at the sight of my mother's hand clutched over her belly. “So it is true." _

_ A look of confusion crosses my mother's face. “What do you mean, my lady?” _

_ “Do not play stupid with me, whore. It is all over your stench. First my husband, and now my son. Does your lust know no end?” _

_ Terror flashes in my mother's eyes as Keloe pulls a knife from the top of her dress. The steel reflects the magical light, and my mother cowers in a corner of the room. As the lady approaches the bed, my own fear morphs into pure panic.  _

I pull myself back into my body, and my head swings wildly around the courtyard. The guard leaps to his feet as I race to the door, but I silence him with half a thought. The power inside of me surges forth, revealing a vast depth I didn't know existed. 

I fling the door open and tear down the hallways as fast as my legs will go. My breathing comes in ragged gasps, threatening to tear open my throat. I slow down as I reach the corridor with my mother's room. 

There is a single guard posted outside of her doorway, holding a torch. I slip into the shadows and move silently along the stone floor. My darkness extinguishes the torch and silences this guard as well. 

My mother's sobs reach me through the door. My fiery temper chills into a pool of frozen rage. The door flies open hard enough to rip it from its hinges. Keloe and my mother both scream loudly at the noise. 

The knife drops from the lady's hand as she stares in horror at me. “What are you?”

I don't answer as I step over the threshold. The tang of blood fills the air, and I notice blood on the floor. Too much blood. Her pale skin glows in the faelight, revealing a long, dark wound on her abdomen. 

My gaze turns to where my stepmother stands. We stare at each other, silent and unblinking. Her gaze holds disgust and fear, mind holds icy wrath. “Azriel… no,” my mother whispers from her bed. “It isn't worth it.”

_ Yes, it is. _ I step towards Keloe once more, savoring the sensation of power coursing through me. The realization that this female who has tormented and imprisoned me my entire life is at my mercy. She steps back, calling out for the guard to help her. 

“He can't hear you,” I say sweetly. Another step. And another. 

The stone wall meets Keloe’s back, and her breathing hitches into quiet sobs. I stop a foot in front of her. The knife shakes in front of my stepmother, and the fear pouring from her intoxicates me. 

I pull the blade from her hands, sending it flying across the room. My mother calls out for me again, but I ignore her pleas. A tendril of shadow caresses Keloe’s face, wiping the tears away. 

“Please…” she whispers. 

I study her face for a heartbeat. My anger is an abyss inside of me, and I find no shred of mercy inside of it. “No.” My fist clenches, and the shadow tightens around her neck, cutting off her breath. Keloe claws frantically at her throat, but her fingers pass right through the shadows. Her face reddens as her struggles grow weaker. 

“Azriel! Enough!” My mother yells at my feet. A streak of her blood leads to her bed, where she dragged herself from. The desperation in her voice cuts through the rage in my mind. I release the shadow around Keloe’s neck, and she falls to her knees, gasping for breath. 

I turn to my injured mother, holding my hand to her bleeding abdomen. “What happened?” I ask.

Her face is pale… too pale, but she gives me a warm smile. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with, my son.” 

Keloe coughs from the corner of the room, but I ignore her. “It is my concern. That bitch would have killed you. Why? Why would she want to do that?” 

“Your mother is a whore.” The words are nothing more than a whisper in the air, but I whirl on my stepmother. She has risen to her feet and looks down at us smiling. “She was going to birth another bastard to shame my family name. I couldn’t allow that.”

I spring to my feet, savoring the color draining from Keloe’s face as I approach her again. “My mother is not a whore. Your son forces himself on her every night, threatening my life if she fights.” 

“It wouldn’t be a loss,” she sneers. “You’re a bastard-born son of a common whore. You will never fly in the legions, you will never win glory in battle. You should have been left to die in the forest. The others would have spit on your very existence. I saved you from that fate. Just as I saved the other child of a similar fate.” 

“Azriel…” my mother calls weakly. She coughs, spitting blood onto the floor. I rush back to her side, taking her cold hand in my own. “Azriel… I love you. Never forget that no matter what, I love you. You will grow into a fine male and make me proud.” 

A long sigh escapes my mother’s throat as her hand slackens in mine. Time freezes as the light drains from her hazel eyes. The world has stopped. Time has ended. It is impossible for my mother’s life to have ended and the world to keep going. 

Every emotion and thought empties from my head as I plant a kiss on my mother’s cold cheek. I gently place her hand down on the floor and rise to my feet. Keloe moves towards the door, slowly inching her way around me. The sight of her smug smile snaps the tight leash my temper has been on. I reach deep into the well of power inside of me, and the darkness responds. 

Writhing tentacles of shadow burst from the walls and ceiling of the room, extinguishing all light. Keloe lets out a piercing scream that transforms into hysterical sobs as she is lifted into the air. “I hope you burn in hell.” 

A loud crack fills the room as Keloe’s head twists to one side. She sinks to the floor, her eyes as empty and lifeless as my mother’s. I blend into the darkness as several guards rush down the hall. I walk to the front gate. The men standing guard back away at the sight of the shadows writhing around me. For the first time in my life, I step foot outside of the stone walls that have been my prison. 

I continue walking forward into the dark, snowy woods without a single glance back just as the alarm bells begin ringing.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Cassian**

The welts on my back burn as my shirt brushes against them. I ignore the pain and finish stacking the firewood near the kitchen tents. Females come and go, lifting the flaps constantly, filling the air with mouthwatering scents. Raised voices echo across the camp, but I ignore them. 

The week of chores is almost over, thank the Cauldron. One more day of hauling firewood and delivering plates of food to the camp leaders. “Cassian!” I hear Leina, Rhysand's mother, calling for me. She approaches me from the crowd. 

“Go back to the house, now.”

“Why? I have chores I need to finish,” I remind her. Sarcasm adds a bite to my words. 

Her eyes harden at the defiance in my tone. “There is trouble brewing. I don’t want you boys in the middle of it.” 

I make my way towards the house, but as soon as Leina’s back turns, I double back between the houses and sneak to the center of the camp. As I approach, I hear the voices growing louder. The camp leader’s voice calls for silence, and the order is obeyed instantly. I peek out from around the mess tent. 

A male dressed in all black steps forward, dragging a young Illyrian behind him. Ropes of twined ash bind the boy, but I can still see the life and fury smoldering in his hazel eyes. Dried blood coats his forehead from an old wound. I can’t make out the words flowing between the stranger and the camp lord, but the tether holding the young Illyrian finds its way to Lord Devlon. 

In an instant, the stranger and his two guards vanish into thin air, leaving the prisoner behind. I push my way to the edge of the crowd, keeping an eye out for Leina. The ropes are cut as the entire camp holds its breath. Several moments pass that nothing happens. Jeers rise from the warriors, but the boy only stares ahead. 

I notice small shadows dancing around his face, almost hidden by his black hair. Lord Devlon paces around him, but he doesn't touch him. “Welcome, Azriel.”

The glee in his voice is unmistakable. Those darkened hazel eyes continue to stare at nothing. I see Rhys across the clearing, almost directly in front of Azriel. Leina is still nowhere to be found. 

Devlon stops his admiring study of the newcomer. His irritation breaks through his normally cold demeanor. Azriel still ignores him, but I can read the tension in his muscular shoulders.

“Why are you ignoring me?” Devlon growls. The entire crowd holds its breath again, but there is no response. I see the blue glow of a Siphon meet a wall of shadow. Magic crackles through the air, but Azriel remains hidden in his shield. 

“Mother above…” I hear several females around me whisper. Lord Devlon steps back, and the boy becomes visible once more.

Lenia steps out of the crowd, towards Azriel. “Lord Devlon,” she says. “I can care for him. His mother was like a sister to me.”

Her words are met with glares from several of the high-ranking males, but Devlon glances from Azriel to Lenia before nodding his approval. She lays a hand gently on his arm before leading him through the muttering crowd. 

I wheel around and begin a race back to the house. The door opens as I approach. Leina sighs but greets me with a warm smile. “I should have known. Well, come in.”

I enter the house cautiously. Azriel’s sharp eyes move to me immediately. Rhysand slips into the house a few seconds later. All three of us study one another, instincts roaring for dominance. 

Rhysand’s mother steps in front of her son and I, blocking our view of Azriel. “We are not having a fight in this house. If any of you start any trouble, you will be sleeping with an empty belly.”

Azriel nods his understanding and disappears into his room. Leina dishes up the warm food for Rhysand and I. Dinner is silent. Sleep hits me the moment my head hits the pillow. 

In the morning, Azriel is at the table. I take the seat next to him. “G’morning,” I grunt out sleepily. Leina puts a bowl of porridge in front of me. 

Rhys appears a few minutes later, violet eyes bright. “We're back in the training ring today!” 

The fog in my mind clears at his words. Azriel’s expression darkens at this. “Are you joining us today?”

“No.” Azriel’s voice hardly reaches my ears. “I… I can't train.”

Leina shoots me a pointed look that I ignore. “Why not?” My eyes move over Azriel’s face, solid shoulders, his pristine wings. I stop on his scarred arms. “Is it because of your scars?” 

“No!” Azriel snaps. “I’m just as strong as you are!” 

“Then come train with us. We’re still in the fighting ring. Flying exercises don’t start until winter. Something about conditioning us to fly in the worst weather or some nonsense about that.” 

The room darkens for a heartbeat, but Azriel doesn’t answer. I shrug and wolf down my breakfast. I jump off the chair, stretching my wings as I do so. “I can’t fly.” The words are so quiet I barely hear them. 

“What?” Rhys asks. 

“I can’t fly.” Azriel stares down at his untouched food. “I was never allowed to learn.” 

Horror and fury almost knock the wind out of me. “You’re… you’re an Illyrian. You  _ have _ to fly.” I shake my head stupidly. “If you weren’t allowed to train, how did you get so strong?” 

“I… I trained myself. The shadows let me see how the soldiers made their bodies strong, so I just copied what they did.” 

I lean against the wall, crossing my arms. “I thought you were just a scrawny good-for-nothing when you came here,” I admit. 

“Cassian!” Leina reproaches me. She takes a step towards us, as if she wants to break off the conversation, but something stops her. 

“I’ll teach you myself. I wouldn’t want you to fall behind.” Azriel blinks at my offer. I put my hand out for him to shake. “It doesn’t mean we’re friends or anything, but I can’t let your resourcefulness go to waste.” 

The skin of his hands is cold to the touch, and a shadow slithers down his arm. I repress my shudder at this as we shake hands. Leina smiles at me. Rhys jumps down from his chair and throws his arms over both of our necks. “C’mon! We’re going to be late if you two keep up all of this mushy stuff.” 

Azriel pulls his bowl off the table and finishes his food in record time. His tendrils of shadow keep hiding his face, but I catch a glimpse of his smile.  _ He won’t be smiling very much by the time training is over.  _

I let the door slam shut behind me as I head towards the training ring.  _ Things are about to get very interesting around here. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Rhysand**

I wrap my arms around me to hold in the shaking as the wind picks up. Long shadows hide us from the rest of the world. Cassian shouts at Azriel over the rustling trees.

I approach my… friends. The word sounds strange in my mind, but warmth pools in my heart as I watch them running through the flying exercises. 

We have spent weeks, no months, sneaking into the dark woods after training, taking turns explaining the finer points of flying, and leaping off of the smaller ledges for practice. I feel smug whenever I see the looks of shock at Azriel’s progress

“What are you smiling at, Rhys?” Cassian calls to me. 

I shake my head and climb up the rocks. Shadows dance around Azriel’s face, but we turn to face the drop off. “Are you ready for this, Az?”

He nods and steps back. His wings snap open, sending him sailing into the air. Cassian and I leap after him, intending to catch him before he falls. The clouds part, bathing the forest in cold moonlight. 

Undiluted joy pours through me as the roaring wind freezes me to the core. Azriel turns in the air, savoring the freedom of sky and wind and wing. Cassian swerves towards me with a wide grin on his face. 

Here, alone among the clouds, we aren't bastard borns or freaks of nature or the heir to a heavy crown. Here we are nothing but three comrades. Here, among the stars and the wind, we are free. 

We sneak back into the house with the aid of Azriel’s shadows. Morning comes far too soon as my mother shakes me awake. Her shoulders are tense as I sit up in bed. “What’s going on?” 

“Your father is here,” she announces. “He needs you to attend some kind of meeting with him.” My mother pulls a some formal clothing from my wardrobe. “Put this on and come downstairs.” 

The cloth is thick and full as I pull on the clothes. Black fabric embroidered with silver thread. The mountain peak crowned with three stars shines from my breast pocket. When I go downstairs, my father sits at the table as my mother lays a plate of food in front of him. His violet eyes go immediately to me. 

“You’ve grown,” he says simply. His gaze studies the muscle in my shoulders and arms, the wings extending out of my back. “You need to hide your wings.The other Courts would look down on you if they knew you were half-Illyrian.” 

My jaw tightens. “Why does it matter what they think?” 

Anger sparks in my father’s eyes. “The Night Court is feared and reviled by the rest of Pythian. That reputation keeps intruders from entering our lands, discovering our secrets. It’s what protects Velaris. You’re going to be High Lord someday, and it’s important you maintain that image.” 

_ I don’t want to be that kind of High Lord!  _ I almost spit out the words, but my mother shakes her head ever so slightly. For her, I bite my tongue, but I glare at my father for a few moments. 

“Where are we going today?” I ask. 

“There are reports of human slaves rebelling in territories on the continent. The other High Lords are having a meeting to discuss the rebellion spreading here.” My father rolls his eyes. “Of course, we don’t keep slaves, so I don’t know why they insist I be there. It’s time you got to know some of the other Courts.” 

My mother lays a plate of food in front of me. I want to ask her about Cassian and Azriel, but I choke down the food instead. My father finishes and kisses my mother gently. “Come, Rhysand,” he says.

“I thought I needed to hide my wings.” 

My father turns to me and raises his eyebrow. “Your magic will hide them. Just will them to vanish. It is a simple use of your power.”

The magic stirs as I reach into the well of my power. My mind reels as the weight of my wings vanishes. I grip the edge of the table to keep my balance. My father extends his hand towards me again and we winnow away. 

The weak light of the Illyrian mountains brightens into brilliant sunlight. White marble walls and columns seem to radiate light as we enter a vast room with arching windows. A male with sun-darkened skin and bright amber eyes greets us. “Good to see you!” He grips my father’s hand and shakes it. 

“You must be Rhysand,” he says to me. I nod and shake his offered hand warmly. “I’m Helion. It’s nice to meet you.” 

My father makes an excuse of some kind and drags me away. We approach four males dressed in splendid green tunics. My father claps the grown male enthusiastically on the back. “Rhysand, this is the High Lord of the Spring Court and his three sons.” 

The two older boys offer me stiff nods while the youngest one smiles shyly at me. I grin back at him. “Boys, go find something to entertain yourselves with.” My father leads his friend away. Scoffing, the elder Spring Court sons vanish into the crowd too. 

I sigh in relief as they leave. The younger male averts his eyes as I turn to look at him. “I’m Rhysand,” I say and offer him my hand. 

Shock widens his green eyes. “I’m… My name is Tamlin.” 

“How old are you?” I ask. He is much smaller than me, but the Spring Court males aren’t as muscular as my father and the Illyrians I train with. 

“I’m… I’m close to six!” 

“You’re so tiny!” I blurt out. By six years old, Illyrian males are already beginning to learn to spar with bare fists and flying. 

Tamlin clenches his fists. “How old are you?” 

“I’m fourteen. Don’t you do any training?” 

“What kind of training?” 

“Don’t you know how to fight or anything like that?” 

“Why would I need to learn how to fight?” 

“How are you going to be a High Lord if you can’t fight? How will you be able to defend your lands, your people?” 

Tamlin’s cheeks brighten. “I… I’m not going to become a High Lord. My brothers are the ones that will take over. I’m… I’m usually alone.” 

“Don’t you have any friends?” 

Tamlin shakes his head. “No… my father won’t… I mean… no one is good enough to be my friend! I’m a son of the High Lord of Spring Court. I don’t make friends with just any lesser faerie that comes across my path!” 

The hurt in his voice cuts deep into my heart. Loneliness and sorrow shine in his green eyes. “I… I could be your friend if you want me to.” 

Tamlin only has time to offer me a grateful smile before our fathers reappear. Tamlin’s shoulders sink slightly as he is led to where his brothers sit in the circle of chairs. My father leads me to a chair of my own and the meeting begins. 

I almost doze off several times during the long meeting. The voices of the High Lords drone on and on, lulling me into thoughts of the training I am missing today. I catch a glimpse of Tamlin sound asleep in his chair across the circle. One of his brothers pinches him hard, making my friend jump in his chair. Tamlin rubs the spot tenderly. 

When the meeting is finally over, I try to find Tamlin, but my father holds me back. “There are some others I want you to meet.” He leads me to a sullen-faced, red-haired male. “This is Beron, High Lord of the Autumn Court.” 

I politely nod at him, but I scan the crowd for Tamlin as my father and Beron begin speaking. “Hybern is sending his troops to help quell the rebellions on the continent. He is asking us to send troops as well. What do you think?” 

My father shakes his head. “I have no interest in fighting this war. My Court doesn’t keep human slaves. They are too weak to keep up with demands of the work I require of them, especially since a majority of their work is so shabby.” 

“You may have to choose a side eventually.” 

“I don’t see why I have to risk my armies for a war that has nothing to do with me.” 

“Your allies might disagree with you on that.” 

My father’s voice drops into a menacing growl. “Is that a threat, Beron?” 

The other male glares at my father. “Of course not. It is just a warning that you might not be able to stay out of this mess as much as you want to.” 

My father merely rolls his eyes and gives Beron a terse goodbye before winnowing us back to the Illyrian camp. I greet my mother with a warm hug. “You still have time for some training this afternoon. Go on.” 

I change into my training clothes and race towards the training rings. I notice the other males in the camp gazing at me for longer than usual. When I reach the rings, Lord Devlon stops me from going to Cassian and Azriel. 

“You'll be sparring with others today, Rhysand.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and leads me to where the sons of the camp lords are training. I almost laugh at their clumsy movements.

I glance over my shoulder towards my friends, but Devlon jerks his chin towards my chosen opponents. I grab my practice sword and stalk towards them. Their expressions range from mocking to fearful. 

I am sparring with my third opponent when my parents stop at the edge of the training ring. I see my father gazing at me with pride on his face as I disarm the male I'm fighting. Cassian’s training has paid off. 

Devlon beckons me over. “You're doing well, Rhysand.” 

I nod respectfully at him, keeping my mouth tightly closed. Color stains my mother's cheeks. She looks happier than she has since we came to the camp. 

My father even looks satisfied. He ruffles my hair and pulls me into a warm hug. “I have to return to my duties. You're doing very well, Rhysand.” 

After kissing my mother on the cheek, he winnows away. Devlon’s expression turns hard again as he walks away. My mother leads me back to our small house. Cassian and Azriel wait for us there. 

“Is something wrong?” I ask. “Why did I have to train with them today.”

“Your father and Lord Devlon are concerned about appearances. It looks better for you, the son of the High Lord, to be training with high born Illyrians.” 

“That's stupid. If I trained with them all the time, I would be weak. Cassian is the one who's been helping me.”

“I know, Rhys. I know. However, appearances matter to them.”

“Cassian and Azriel are my friends!” I say firmly. “They're the ones I want fighting by my side. I trust them.” 

My mother smiles at me. “Cassian is the strongest Illyrian in these mountains. When I become High Lord, he will be the one leading my armies. Azriel is clever and sneaky. He will be my eyes and ears.” 

“We're bastard born Illyrians, Rhys,” Cassian reminds me. “We will be lucky to take the Rite. Your court might rebel when you give us those lofty titles.”

“Then they can rebel… and face the consequences. You're my friends, my brothers. I don't want any other males fighting by my side.”

Azriel beams at me. Cassian barks out a laugh. “I don't think life with you will ever be boring.” 

⧪

Devlon corners me as soon as I appear in the training rings with Cassian and Azriel. “Your father wants you training with these males from now on.” He beckons to the group of males I sparred with yesterday. 

“Why?” 

He narrows his eyes. “You performed very well with them yesterday. He is under the impression they are the reason.”

“Who's fault is that? They haven't taught me a damn thing.”

“Your father…”

“My father is mistaken. If I'm to become a better fighter, a better warrior, then I need to train with those who actually give me a challenge.” I stalk away from Devlon and towards Cassian and Azriel. 

The others in the training ring glance at me with expressions of awe or revulsion, but I ignore them. “What was that all about?” Cassian asks me in a low voice as we begin our exercises. 

I roll my eyes. “My _ father _ thinks I should be training with Fae that can ‘give me a challenge.’ Devlon wants me to train with the lords’ sons because of my position.” 

Cassian grins at me. “Your father thinks those idiots are a challenge for you?” 

Even Azriel cracks a smile at this. I shrug. “I suppose so. I told Devlon I have no interest in training with them. If my father finds out, I’ll deal with it. When I become High Lord, I will decide who stands by my side.” 

Both of my friends bow their heads ever so slightly to me. Cassian’s smile widens. “Don’t expect us to make it easy for you though.” 

“Life with you will never be boring.”

 

**Author's Note: I apologize for the long delay in updating. The past two months have been hectic in regards to my personal life. I was also hit with pretty bad writer's block. Now that things have settled down, I should be able to update more frequently. I appreciate your continued support! Enjoy!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Cassian**

I let out a low growl as the bindings around my wings tighten. “Stop squirming and it won’t hurt as much.” I bare my teeth at the older male, the disdain in his voice. “We all had to do this. Not that you should have a chance.” 

My lip curls up at his words, but I hold my tongue. The other novices in the camp mill around, watching as more wings are bound, more magic restrained. Rhys stands beside me, his face pale. He squeezes his hands into fists over and over again, reaching for the vast power he couldn’t reach. 

Leina stands in the crowd that has gathered to watch the preparations for the Rite. I catch her eye, and she offers me an encouraging smile.  _ It should be my own mother here watching me becoming a real warrior.  _ Even ten years in this camp never yielded any answers as to what happened to my mother. None of the females know of my mother, and none of the warriors will bring me news when they visit my home camp. Delvon gave me one warning when I tried to sneak back there. Attempting to return to my birthplace would forfeit any chance I had of taking the Rite. 

Azriel pushes his way through the other novices and joins us. His eyes are hard with rage. “What’s wrong?” I whisper. He shakes his head and rolls his shoulders. There are no shadows framing his face, moving over his skin. _ The magic suppression works on even a shadowsinger’s abilities?!  _

Devlon moves through the clearing, checking the progress. The early spring air still stings and bites any exposed skin, cutting right through the tunics and pants we were all given this morning. His gaze falls on the three of us but moves on quickly when Rhys stares him down. “Cranky old man,” he mutters. 

I choke back a laugh, earning several dirty looks. As the sun rises, more warriors and females gather to watch the beginning of the Rite. Lord Devlon shouts over the low murmuring of the crowd. Everyone falls silent. “It’s finally time for the Rite. It’s simple: survive and make it to the top peak of Ramiel. Touching the stone there will prove you have what it takes to be a full-fledged Illyrian.” 

Every novice is approached by a warrior and taken into the air. “We meet where we trained to fly,” Rhys whispers as Azriel is approached. We both nod as another warrior beckons me towards them. In seconds, I am shivering against the frigid breeze as we fly towards the large area of forest normally off limits. Unknown to the others, we know these trees well. At least parts of them. I have to head west to find our training spot. 

The male slips through a crack in the canopy and lands in a dim clearing. He releases me quickly. “Don’t try too hard, bastard.” I snarl at him as he flies away. Shelter, weapons, food, water. It will take me at least a full day to reach our meeting place. Gathering branches as I push my way through the snow, I fashion a crude spear. 

It doesn’t take long to come across the first body. Laying in the snow, eyes staring at nothing, I find a male from another camp. Blood seeps from a jagged slice in his throat, melting the snow. Mercifully, his clothes aren’t too saturated with blood yet. I pull his tunic and pants from his body and pull them over mine. 

Drops of blood form a trail, winding its way in the direction I’m heading. The forest stands frozen and silent as the trees grow closer together. I strain my ears to hear the sound of anything. The snapping of a twig has me whirling around, scanning the shadows under the trees. My arms raise my makeshift weapon as something leaps at me from my left. A wild-eyed novice from another camp attacks swiftly, but sloppily. 

“Stop!” I snarl at him. “I don’t want to kill you!” 

My words don’t register with him. He has lost himself to panic and bloodlust. His sharpened stick tears through the shoulder of my tunic. My instincts take over and time seems to slow down. I block the incoming blow and drive the sharpened end of his stick into his throat. My opponent lets out a long, gurgling breath, his brown eyes brimming with panic and accusation. 

He falls to the ground. I pull the stick from his neck, releasing the flow of blood. As the sigh of his last breath fades away, I close the male’s eyes and search his pockets. A small packet of dried food and a small flower. A token from a female that will mourn his loss. I take the food and say a swift prayer for him. 

The woods grow darker as I follow the path through the woods. The morning fades into afternoon. I climb into a tree and settle into a place where two wide branches meet to sleep until nightfall. The sound of nearby screaming jerks me awake. Bright light from a torch just beneath me burns my eyes. I hear two male voices laughing. 

“Don’t you want to play with us?” one of them croons. The screaming starts up again. I look down to see a young male, his wings shredded and bleeding, crawling away from two others wielding torches and daggers.  _ How did these bastards get actual weapons?  _

As one of the tormentors reaches down to slice his prey, blind fury courses through me. I jump down from the tree. My spear finds its mark, driving him down into the snow. He claws at where the pointed end protrudes from his throat. His friend looks on in horror as I stalk towards them. Composing himself, he lifts his blade and charges at me. 

I deflect his blow, the bone in his elbow snapping as I strike it. Before he can cry out in pain, my hand finds his neck. The second novice gasps for air as I lift him into the air. His feet kick my leg, but the pain only fuels my rage. He tries to snarl at me, but I tighten my grip. The entire tree shakes as I throw him into it. The male slumps to the ground, groaning softly. I pick up one of his daggers, stalking towards him one step at a time. 

The terror in his eyes sends a thrill of satisfaction through me. He eyes the glinting blade in my hand as I crouch down in front of him. “What are you going to do?” he gasps. I twist my hand in his hair and jerk his head back, pressing the knife into his throat. A drop of blood mingles with the sweat on his skin. 

“You deserve to die. Slowly and painfully. Choking on your own blood. Being flayed and strung from a tree with your own innards. Eaten alive by the creatures of this forest.” His breathing becomes more hurried and shallow. His pupils are so large they block the rest of his eye. “I should make sure you die for what you did to him.” 

“Please, please. I won’t do it again. Please, spare me.” Tears leak from his eyes. 

I release his head before knocking him out. I turn to find the third novice, the injured one, laying dead on the ground next to the first. The hilt of the forgotten dagger protrudes from his chest. I sigh and examine his wings. Shredded to ribbons. Without a healer, he would never be able to fly again even if he survived the Rite.  _ What good is an Illyrian without his wings?  _

I search the bodies and find a makeshift tinderbox, the second dagger, and more dried food. I pull my spear from the throat of the first male and leave the clearing. The scent of blood will attract something foul soon enough. Legends of horrible creatures that roam these forests are told around campfires and to keep novices from wandering off. Entire bands of warriors have vanished in these mountains. 

As I walk, the wind seems to sing to me. Through the haze of my memories, I remember the soft, musical voice that sang me to sleep so many of those cold nights in my birthplace. I examine my hands. Slender, elegant fingers inherited from my mother that so often were busy with domestic chores or mending my tattered clothes.  _ I will find you. Don’t worry. I will return for you when I’m strong enough to save you.  _

Close to dawn, the trees finally begin to thin. Birdsong erupts around me, too loud after the hours of pressing silence. Exhaustion begins to weigh me down. My stomach emits a loud sound. I drag myself into a tree and settle down where two large branches meet. I devour my food and doze. 

_ “Cassian! Cassian, where are you?” My mother’s voice drifts through the trees. I drift from the top of the cliff, savoring the wind carrying me down. I see my mother smile, but her eyes are hidden from my view.  _

_ Her hands, so graceful and strong, carry a bundle of firewood. Scars mar her skin, but she is still beautiful. White lines run the length of her wings, prominent with the sun shining through the membrane. “Come, Cassian. We have to return to the camp.”  _

_ Exhaustion and fear lend an edge to her voice. She carries her burden slowly, her smile morphing into a grimace. Tears line her eyes. “Mommy, what’s wrong?”  _

_ “Nothing, Cassian. I’m just tired.” She brushes her hand across her eyes. “Let’s just get back to the camp.”  _

_ As we approach the edge of the clearing, a group of males stalks towards us. I recognize the camp leader. The other warriors wear expressions of cruel satisfaction. One of them seizes me by the arm and begins to drag me away. “What are you doing?” I cry. “Where are you taking me?”  _

_ My mother screams and shouts at the males. It takes three of them to restrain her as she lashes out, her hand reaching towards me. “Cassian!” I bite the hand of the male dragging me away. Three steps. I make it three steps before blinding pain fills my head and darkness consumes me.  _

_ Freezing cold mud splattering my face brings me back to the real world. I look around me. Unfamiliar faces, a new camp, and no sign of my mother. “What happened?” I ask no one in particular.  _

_ “You were brought here to live. This is your new home.” The female voice is cold.  _

_ “This isn’t my home. I have to get back to my mother.”  _

_ She shrugs. “You live here now. Best to forget your mother, boy. She can’t save you from the training, from anything anymore. Your mother is dead.”  _

I wake up shivering, courtesy of the howling wind. Snow drifts on my shoulders. A shadowy figure moves in the branches beside me, dried blood darkening the rough tunic and pants. It takes me a moment to recognize him without the tendrils of darkness usually wrapped around his face. 

Shouting voices fill the woods. Their words are muffled in the wind, but the owners move closer. Boots crunch on the snow beneath our tree. 

“Hello, Azriel. It seems you brought some company.” A sinister smile is my only answer.


	10. Chapter 10

**Azriel**

Resentment emanates from the male carrying me to the forest surrounding the base of Ramiel. He flies me to the outskirts of camp and lands. At the edge of the treeline, he releases his grip on me and takes off again. The biting wind cuts through the thin cloth of my clothes. The light grows dim as I make my way into the woods, and I am left almost blind and deaf without my shadows.

_Cassian would laugh himself stupid if he heard me making such pitiful excuses. I know how to fight, how to survive. That is enough._ I blow into my numb hands, hoping to warm them. As I walk, I almost trip over a large stick. Jagged rocks litter the forest floor.  _Perfect!_

I sharpen the point of the stick as I travel north, towards the clearing where Rhysand and Cassian taught me how to fly. Night falls, but I keep walking. Near dawn, a scream shatters the silence of the forest. Taunting laughs, jeers. The sounds awaken a primal rage deep inside of me.  _Ignore it. Ignore it and keep moving. There will be dozens of deaths this week. You can’t stop them all._

As a second scream sounds, I snap and take off running, dodging the trees and limbs with ease. Four novices huddle together, their gazes fixed on something in the tree above them. A dull thudding sound fills the clearing. A fifth male leaps down, rolling to absorb his fall and flashes a triumphant smirk at his comrades.

I follow their gaze up into the tree. Revulsion sweeps through me, and I begin to gag silently. Blood follows the lines of the tree bark, pooling onto the snow beneath it. The young novice struggles weakly against the spikes impaling his wings, pinning him to the tree. He coughs and sputters as blood runs from his mouth, his breathing shallow and gurgling.  _He’s choking on his own blood._

The male that leaps from the tree holds something up to the others: his victim’s tongue. Something snaps deep inside of me as an ancient, icy rage takes over my mind. The darkness within me cries for the blood of these  _monsters._ I step into the clearing. All five males turn to look at me, and to my satisfaction, all of them have the sense to look unnerved.

“Wait… aren’t you… the shadowsinger?” I recognize one of the males from my camp. One of the high-born, purebred sons of a high-ranking warrior. One of the novices that Rhysand’s father wished him to train with.  _I’ll show the High Lord what a mistake that was._ I smile widely at them, stalking towards them slowly.

Two of them lunge at me, but their movements are slow and sloppy. Cassian’s words come to mind.  _If your opponent is larger than you, use your speed to your advantage. The bigger brutes often use their sheer size instead of using their brains. That’s what makes them stupid. That’s what makes them easy prey._

I step out of their range with laughable ease. Their snarls of frustration echo from the trees. I laugh at them, baiting them into attacking again. I duck past the first blow, stabbing my sharpened stick into the soft flesh of my attacker’s stomach. I feel the shaft of my makeshift spear drag through his body, blood spraying.

I pull on my weapon, but it’s stuck. Tangled around the innards of the male bleeding onto the snow. The other male swings, but I dance out of the way. The rough bark of a tree scrapes my wings as I back against a tree. He lunges again. I manage to roll away from him, pulling on my weapon again. The blood-soaked wood comes free, but one of the other males grabs me from behind.

Every muscle in my body freezes as something digs into my exposed throat. “You’re not so tough without your shadows, are you, Azriel?”  _That voice…_

I bite back my retort as the blade presses harder into my flesh, the skin splitting open. A trickle of blood runs down my neck. The other three novices move to form a semicircle around us, sizing me up as if I were a piece of meat. Fear creeps into my veins.  _Think. You can get out of this. Think._

“Father sends his regards,” Zaff whispers in my ear. I repress a shudder as his rotten breath washes over my face. “Dreven wanted me to bring you home so he could bond with his baby brother, but I decided that you’re mine.  _I_ will be the one to avenge my mother.  _I_ will be the one to pin your wings on my wall as a trophy. Right beside the wings of your filthy, whoring mother.”

Icy rage obliterates any trace of fear. My elbow connects with Zaff’s ribs as I crush his foot beneath mine. He barks out a cry of pain, dropping his dagger. I grab his arm and twist before he can stand up straight. I hear bone snap as he cries out again. His cronies take a step towards us, but one look at the rage burning in my eyes makes them pause.

My first connects with Zaff’s mouth before he can draw breath to order the others. I grip his arm and roll, dragging him with me. My hand wraps around the hilt of Zaff's dagger Tears stream down his face. I savor each groan escaping his lips. “Kill him!” Zaff pants out, coughing blood onto the snow.

As all three make to charge at me, I take off running. Branches whip my face as I bolt through the trees. I hear my pursuers panting and cursing behind me as they try to keep up. I break into the familiar clearing and begin climbing a large tree. A huddled shape sleeps in the junction of two large branches.

Cassian startles awake as the three males race into the clearing, shouting at one another. He looks at me and grins. “Hello, Azriel.” He glances at the novices scanning the clearing, not looking up. “It seems you brought company.” He pulls a dagger, a real dagger, from his belt. I catch it as he tosses it to me.

“Let’s have some fun,” Cassian whispers and leaps down from the tree. He lands next to the largest male, his blade glinting in the sunlight. I jump onto one of the other males, driving my own dagger into his shoulder. Blood sprays my face, but I don’t let go.

My opponent howls in pain and tries to grab me, but I stab his arm. He drops to the ground and rolls, crushing me beneath him. I gasp, trying to catch my breath as he looms over me. Before he can drive his own weapon into my body, his face slackens as he falls over. I manage to roll out of the way, noting the dagger hilt protruding from his chest.

“Get up!” Cassian shouts, a note of fear in his voice. “Get up!” I manage to get to my feet, my chest still heaving. One of the other males lays groaning on the ground, blood leaking from somewhere on his body. I run across the clearing on silent feet and drive my dagger into the back of our last opponent as he approaches Cassian slowly. He drops with a heavy thud.

I sink to the forest floor, my head spinning. “Are you alright?” I gasp out.

Cassian nods and picks up his fallen dagger. He silences the groaning male with a single thrust. I watch his muddy, blood-stained boots come into my view. He offers me a hand. “Get up, Azriel. We don’t have time to be injured.”

“Let me get my breath, Cass.”

He sits next to me on the carpet of pine needles after wiping the blood from our daggers. He passes me one of the clean blades. “This should work better.”

I nod, focusing on steadying my breathing. After a few minutes, my dizziness fades away. I get to my feet. “We should get rid of these bodies. Rhys said he would be joining us here.”

We spend the next few hours moving the bodies to a deeper place in the trees. Cassian scatters pine needles over the pools of blood. My stomach growls loudly as the sun begins its descent. From his pockets, Cass pulls out some food and tosses it to me. “We should hunt something and make a fire. There’s no reason to freeze and starve while we wait.”

As darkness falls, we huddle around the small fire. Cassian shoots me a wicked grin. “I remember my mother always telling me stories about creatures that wandered these forests. I never found out if they were true or if she just told them to me to make me behave myself.”

I roll my eyes. “As if that would make you behave.”

His laughter fills the clearing. “You’re right, Az. Did you ever hear any stories?”

“Not really.”

“I’ve heard legends of creatures that live in hidden caves, deep inside the mountains, that wear the skins of their victims,” Cassian says, lowering his voice into a dramatic whisper. “The stories say that some of these creatures have lived here since the world was formed.”

I can’t help rolling my eyes despite the chill running down my spine. “Those are just stories to keep novices from wandering into the woods.”

“That’s what they want you to believe,” Cassian whispers. “There are legends of great, winged beasts larger than a house that become invisible and eat unsuspecting Illyrians right out of the sky.” The flames cast creepy shadows on the trees. I clench my fists to keep the shaking hidden.

“Perhaps the worst are the tales of the creatures that only emerge on moonless nights, much like tonight. I heard warriors in my camp saying the worst thing about them is they are attracted to fires. It is as good as ringing the dinner bell.” My heart hammers in my chest, my fear scent saturating the air. “They also move as silent as a shadow, so you will never know they are creeping up behind you.” He glances over my shoulder, a look of pure terror crossing his face. He points to the dark trees behind me. I whirl around, scanning the wall of blackness beyond our campfire. Something moves in the shadows, a twig snapping, but it vanishes behind a tree before I can properly see it.

I unsheath my dagger, inching closer to the treeline. Cassian lets out a shout as arms wrap around my middle, dragging me back towards the fire. I jump, dropping the weapon in my hand. I thrash and kick against the attacker, catching them in the shin. A familiar voice grunts in pain. “Rhys?” I ask.

As I turn around, Cassian doubles up laughing. Rhys massages the place I kicked him and flashes me a wicked grin. I stalk to Cassian and punch him as hard as I can in the jaw. His laughter dies as he flies backwards into a tree.

“Az, don’t be mad. It was a joke!” Cassian asks, rubbing his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

I sit on a fallen log and stare into the flames. I fight to keep my face arranged in a scowl. Cassian sits across from me, watching me carefully. Rhys sits next to me, and says, “I’m sorry, Az.”

“I didn’t think you were so sensitive,” Cassian says. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. Rhysand and Cassian exchange a look but say nothing. The fire crackles merrily in the silent clearing as we cook the small animal Rhys managed to catch and kill on his way to us.

The smell of roasting meat makes my mouth water. “What is our plan?” I ask to distract myself.

“We get to the top of the mountain,” Cassian replies. “We take out anyone that gets in our way.”

I roll my eyes. “It will take us about a day and a half to get to the base of the mountain,” Rhysand says. He turns the meat over. “It will take us another two to climb it. I like our odds though. The others will most likely try to hunt us and kill us, you two in particular.”

A wicked grin is Cassian’s only response. We sit in silence until the meat has finished cooking. After a quick meal, Cassian offers to take first watch. I lean against a log close to the fire and drift into an uneasy sleep.

Dreams of spraying blood and cracking bones haunt me. A loud popping sound startles me awake. I am drenched in sweat and panting. Cassian glances over at me with a concerned expression. “Alright?”

I sigh and rub my eyes. “I’ll take watch. I don’t think I can sleep anyways.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to myself,” he admits. There is a sad, distant look in his eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really. You?”

“Not really.”

Cassian chuckles and stands to stretch. “I guess I should try and get some sleep. I wouldn’t want us to get killed because I’m not there to save your asses.” He winks at me.

I fight to keep the smile off my face. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a prick?”

“All the time.”

Cassian leans against a log and stretches his legs out towards the fire. “Do you think we’re going to get through this?” The faraway look has returned. I know he doesn’t mean the Rite.

“I think so.”

He nods and closes his eyes. Within minutes, Cassian’s own snoring joins the sound of the fire and Rhysand’s leveled breathing. I watch the shadows of the woods until the sky begins to lighten.

A loud bird call rouses Rhys and Cassian. We extinguish our fire and begin hiking towards the looming figure of Ramiel. The day passes in silence, each of us watching the woods around us for any sign of the other novices. As the sun begins to fade, we stop in a small clearing to make camp.

The face of a cliff rises above us, offering a slight shelter from the howling wind. We build another roaring fire, huddling close to it to ward off the growing cold. “I hate these mountains,” Cassian grumbles. I doze against a tree, images of the novices I killed still floating in front of my eyes.

The sudden silence startles me from my dreams. I sit up and look beyond the ring of light cast by our campfire. The other two follow my gaze, hands moving towards their weapons. Before I can give a shout of warning, the clearing erupts into a whirl of dark figures and the reek of carrion.


	11. Chapter 11

**Rhysand**

The scent of decaying flesh threatens to smother me as four creatures emerge from the trees. The firelight glints off of their talons, talons made for rending flesh from bone. I silently curse the absence of my growing power as the creatures surround us. “Well, well. What do we have here?” one of them growls, its voice grating over my ears.

Cassian’s hands inch closer to where his dagger hangs from his belt, but he doesn’t move to grab it. Azriel sits frozen on the ground, his eyes darting from creature to creature. I meet each of their gazes.  _We attack as one. We are stronger than they know. Even without our magic._ Both of them nod. Cassian lets out an earth-shattering battle cry and lunges towards the closest creature. Azriel and I leap after him, each of us going for a different creature.

Blood sprays where the blade of my dagger sinks into the dark, scaly neck. Those long, brutal talons claw at my arm. Sweet, burning agony rips through me as my shirt and skin split open. My vision goes red, but I pull the blade out and blindly stab again. The creature’s roar threatens to shatter my eardrums. Those claws grab me by the shirt and launch me across the clearing. My head knocks against a tree, stars swimming in front of me.

As the creature stalks towards me, blood dripping from the wounds I inflicted, it gives me a maliciously delighted grin. My knees buckle as I try to climb to my feet. That long arm raises to deliver another blow. I close my eyes, waiting for the pain, but it never comes. A gurgling, liquid sound emanates from somewhere above me. Azriel holds on to his knife protruding from the creature’s back, his hand waving at me through its throat.

Cassian runs over to me and helps me up. His clothing is saturated with blood. He and Azriel hold me up as they half-drag me back to our campfire. “What were those things?” I pant out. The burning in my arm is growing worse. I sink to the ground and bury it in snow. The faces of two of the creatures are twisted in snarls of rage and defiance.

“Naga,” Azriel replies. “I heard stories about them at my father’s keep.”

“Nasty brutes,” Cassian spits. I notice a long gash running down his leg when he begins using snow to wash away the blood. “We can’t stay here. The scent of their blood will attract something even nastier.” Azriel nods his agreement.

“We need to start climbing the mountain,” I say. “The peaks would be safer than facing whatever lurks in these trees.”

“If we don’t freeze our asses off first!” Cassian snaps. “I’m not going to be on my feet for much longer.”

“I never thought you would be one to let such a little scratch slow you down,” I say. A spark of anger ignites in his hazel eyes.

“Go to hell, Rhys.”

“I’m already there. Stuck in a frozen forest, bleeding to death, with you.”

Azriel observes with barely concealed humor. Before Cassian can respond, he pulls off a layer of his clothing and begins tearing it into strips. Without a word, he pulls Cassian’s buried leg out and binds it tightly. He does the same for my bleeding arm. The burning doesn’t stop, but I let out a sigh as the blood stops dripping. As Azriel pulls me to my feet, I ignore the slight spinning in my head.

I loop one of Cassian’s arms around my neck and we begin to walk towards a path we saw cut into the mountain earlier. Dawn begins to break as we climb. After an hour, Cassian shrugs our arms off and begins to climb himself. The path narrows, so only one of us can go at a time. I take the lead, turning to glance at my friend’s every so often.

Azriel meets my gaze and nods.  _All clear._ When we stop on a flat rock at midday, Cassian sinks to the ground with a grimace. The bandages have grown soaked with blood again. I pull off one of my shirts, wash the blood from his leg, and rebind the wound. Azriel returns with an armful of wood and two rabbits. “We should rest,” I say.

“I’m fine,” Cassian growls.

“I need to rest too,” I say. “It seems to be safer to sleep during the day, anyways. You and Azriel get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

Cassian rolls his eyes before leaning against a rock. In a few minutes, his snores echo from the cliffs around us. Azriel also falls asleep quickly.

With only the wind for company, I let out a long sigh and glance at my sleeping friends, grinding my teeth together.

My mother's words from years ago come to mind. “ _One day, Rhysand, you will be the High Lord. When that day comes, you will have the entire Night Court to look after. Its people will be under your protection. Every good High Lord has an Inner Circle. It will be your duty to fill it with those you trust above all others to protect you and these lands. You must decide what kind of High Lord you want to become.”_

I let out a quiet snort at the thought of the courtiers surrounding my father. Selfish, snobby pricks.  _One day, I will rule these lands. Cassian will lead my armies, and Azriel will be my eyes and ears. If they have an issue with it, they can burn in hell._

The burning in my arm begins to fade as the sun inches across the sky. Azriel wakes up after a few hours. He comes and sits on the log next to me, a sturdy and silent presence. He carefully skins the rabbits.

“I'm going to get some sleep before dark.”

Azriel nods and adds more logs to the fire. Cassian stirs slightly, but he doesn't wake up. Exhaustion drags me into a fitful sleep where the scent of Cassian's blood and the look of Azriel's icy rage chase me.

Colors paint the western horizon when my eyes open. Sweat beads on my forehead, but I ignore it. Azriel offers me part of a roasted rabbit that I devour quickly. I approach Cassian and gently shake him awake.

He sits up immediately, scanning our surroundings. His gaze settles on where Azriel holds out the entire second rabbit.  _He needs his strength._ I nod my assent. Cassian wolf's down the meat in a few mouthfuls.

When he wipes his hands with some snow, I bend to examine the gash in his leg. The bleeding has stopped. “It's fine. I barely feel it anymore.”

“We're keeping it bandaged anyways. The last thing we need to do is hack your leg off on a mountain.”

Cassian's eyebrows shoot up. I lightly punch his arm and wink. “Prick.”

“We should go,” Azriel says.

I throw snow over the fire to extinguish it. Cassian lets out a hiss as he manages to pull himself up. He glances up at the peak of Ramiel. “I'm ready.”

I swallow around the lump forming in my throat. “When we get off this forsaken mountain, I have something important to tell you both.” Azriel stares at me for a moment before nodding.

“You could just spit it out instead of being dramatic, you know,” Cassian says.

“Where's the fun in that?” I say, chuckling. “Let's go prove those bastards wrong.”

As night begins to fall, we make our way along the roughly hewn trail winding its way to the mountain peak. Despite his insistence the wound is healing, Cassian isn't able to conceal his limping. Following his lead, neither Azriel or I comment on it.

After several hours of walking, we come across a slow moving mountain stream. Cassian sinks down onto a large rock with an audible sigh.

“We should keep moving,” he says.

I crouch down and scoop some of the frigid water into my mouth. “You're the one sitting down.” Azriel kneels beside me. I fill my water skin in the stream and pass it to Cassian.

He empties it in a few mouthfuls. I fill it again and help pull Cassian to his feet. “Az, how much farther do you think we have to go?”

He studies the cliffs jutting above us. “If we want to make it by the end of the week, we have to take a shortcut.” He points to side of the mountain. Dread slucies through me.

“Are you kidding me?” Cassian blurts out.

“If I can make it, you can too,” I say with a false note of determination.

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Cassian says. “You can't climb for shit. Plus your arm--”

“Is as healed as your leg.

Cassian flashes me a wicked grin. “Let's get moving then. We have a mountain to climb.” He climbs to his feet and pauses. Over the wind, the sound of footsteps and shifting stones reaches me. I signal to the others.

All three of us draw our weapons and stand back to back listening hard. A loud clattering and a hiss of pain. I take a step forward and the others follow me.

I push down the frustration of not having my magic. I could find them and use it to smother them or paralyze them.  _Useless wishes. I don't need my magic. I can fight without it. You are an Illyrian._

Cassian nudges my shoulder. He inches forward, moving silently towards their flank. Azriel moves to the other side. I make out five different males in the pack in the dim light from the stars. The scent of unwashed bodies and blood threatens to make me retch.

Cassian circles to their left, Azriel to their right. I let out a low whistle. The males in front of me freeze, their breathing growing rapid. Two bodies fall to the forest floor. I charge ahead, my blow deflected by the pack leader.

“Atrack!” he shouts.

Azriel and Cassian charge at the remaining novices. My opponent feints towards me, but I move out of his range. I glance at Cassian, worried his leg might be slowing him down. He moves quickly, slicing and dodging. The distraction costs me. A burning pain shoots through my side as a blade slices through my shirt. I manage to twist away from it, making the rest of the blow go wide.

A third novice falls unmoving to the snow. Azriel darts towards where Cassian fights the fourth male. My opponent glances towards the shadowsinger, but he lunges towards me. “I will kill all of you.”

“I don’t even know who you are,” I snarl back. He throws his entire weight behind the strike, knocking me off balance. My feet slip on the loose stones, sending me to the ground. He looms over me for a moment and presses his blade against my throat before turning his attention to my friends. The fourth male collapses at Cassian’s feet.

Azriel turns to face us, and his eyes widen. “What are you doing here?”

“You humiliated me, brother.” He sneers at the word “brother.” You destroyed  _my_ family, and that is something I can never forgive. So, I am going to take something precious from you.”

Azriel had never gone into details about the night he fled his father’s estate. Cassian had tried to ask him about it several times, but the hardness in his eyes had always shut him up. There is no spark of kindness, no hint of anything but unyielding and ancient fury in my brother’s eyes. I swear I can see the shadows in the clearing beginning to writhe, but none surround Azriel.

Cassian holds perfectly still, looking from Zaff to me and then to Azriel. Without a word, Azriel begins to stalk closer to his half-brother. The end of the blade digs deeper into my skin. Zaff’s smug expression wavers slightly as the shadowsinger approaches. “Come any closer, and I’ll kill him.”

“No, you won’t.” Azriel stops ten paces away.

“What makes you think I won’t?”

“You would have done it already, but you’re too much of a coward.”

Before he can reply, Azriel throws his dagger. Zaff collapses, blood pooling beneath him. He kneels next to his half-brother and whispers in his ear. “I will kill all of you for what you did to my mother.” He pulls the blade out and wipes it on his brother’s tunic.

I get to my feet, brushing snow from my pants. “Are you two alright?”

Cassian nods and begins checking the bodies for supplies. I turn to Azriel, but he shakes his head. I help Cassian, but none of the bodies have much on them. “We should keep moving.”

Azriel says nothing as we continue to fight our way against the wind to the peak. My knees give out as the sky begins to lighten. Cassian drags me to my feet by the back of my shirt. “We’re almost there,” he says. Azriel waits at the end of the path for us.

We walk around another bend in the trail when the mysterious black stone looms in front of us. The wind howls around us, and the snow seems to fade before it hits the ground. I walk towards the stone, transfixed. “Rhys, you alright?” Cassian asks.

I don’t answer as I stop in front of the glittering obelisk. “When I become High Lord…” Glancing up, I can almost see the three stars that crown the peak of the mountain. “When I become High Lord, you both are going to be in my Inner Circle. You both are going to be by my side when I take my father’s crown.”

My friends come to stand beside me. There is a slight smile on Azriel’s face. Cassian wears a look of appreciation and surprise. “Let’s prove to these bastards who we really are.” As one, we raise our arms. As one, we touch the stone thrumming with power.

The wind rushes around us, whipping our clothes and hair. We appear in the center of our camp, arms still outstretched. The sounds of the camp fade around us as Devlon approaches us, clapping slowly. “I had a feeling it would be you three who would make it. Congratulations.”

I read the unspoken words in his expression.  _You knew we would, but you hoped you would be wrong._ I lift my chin and meet his gaze. “Of course it would be us. I appreciate your confidence in us, Lord Devlon.”

His eyes harden, but he says nothing. He glances at Azriel and Cassian standing beside me. Neither of them drop their gaze. “You should return home.”

I glance down at our stained, torn clothing. “You’re right. I believe a bath is in order.”

The crowd parts as we move towards my mother’s house. I ignore the looks of awe and disgust.  _We did it. We proved them wrong. They never thought we would survive the Rite, but we did. Now, we will be full-blooded Illyrian warriors._ **  
**


	12. Chapter 12

**Cassian**

I hear her voice in the wind howling through the pass. The other males in the patrol refuse to acknowledge my existence. Fine by me. I throw up a shield against the frigid air. It doesn’t warm me any, but it keeps the damned wind from chapping my face. I look down and admire the Siphons on my gauntlets shining in the autumn sun.

_“Seven?” Lord Devlon’s asks incredulously. “Seven each?”_

_“Yes, my lord. It is the only way they can control their powers.”_

_Devlon looks at where Azriel and I stand with Rhysand, his mouth hanging open. He clears his throat and looks away. “Very well. You passed the Rite. You are entitled to the Siphons and to be considered warriors.” The other males look at the camp lord with their own blank expressions. One opens his mouth to protest, but Devlon cuts him off. “My decision stands.”_

_The crowd walks away, leaving the three of us standing alone in the clearing. Rhys throws his arms over mine and Azriel’s shoulders and leads us back to the house. “I’m glad to know that nothing will change around here.”_

When the patrol returns to camp, I pick my way through the mud and to where Azriel and Rhysand are eating a meal of some kind of soup with roasted meat. “Anything interesting to report?”

“It’s been the same thing for the past several years, Rhys. We’re still the same hated bastards, and these are still the same quiet mountains.”

“Mother told me that my father is coming to pay the camp a visit. It sounds as if there is war brewing. The High Lords, and their heirs, are having a meeting to discuss where Pythian will stand on it. I can hardly wait.”

“You have to go, don’t you?”

“Mother insists I go. It is time I learned how to conduct myself as a High Lord now that I am no longer a novice.” Rhys rolls his eyes. He downs the rest of his soup and wipes his chin. “I better go and get ready.”

I stand and bow to him. “Well, a High Lord’s son must be bathed and dressed. It would be so unfitting for someone of your station to be mistaken for one of the riff-raff, you know.”

Rhysand’s only response is a vulgar gesture. Azriel beckons me towards the house. “We should go get changed as well. It wouldn’t do for us to get sick standing around in wet clothes.”

“What did you have to do this morning?”

Azriel shrugs. We take our bowls to where the females are washing them and head back towards the house. Leina greets us at the door and ushers us upstairs. We peel off our muddy, soaking clothes and change into clean flying leathers. “How was patrol this morning?” she asks me as we return downstairs.

“Boring.” I stretch my wings out slightly. “Azriel and I are going to spar this afternoon. He still has a lot to learn.”

Leina lets out a soft laugh. “I’m sure you’ll have more fun than me!” Rhys calls from the other room. He emerges a few moments later, hair dripping wet and dressed in fine black clothes and boots. The Night Court insignia shines on his breast pocket.

“Do they fit alright?” his mother asks.

“They do, thank you.” Rhys kisses his mother on the cheek. “I’m going to take a walk before Father gets here.”

Leina gives him a stern look. “Keep your clothes clean.” She turns to us and points her finger at me. “That goes for you as well. I don’t want you getting them dirty. I’ll have you put on kitchen duty.”

We both nod and head back out into the cold. The training rings are thankfully empty. Az and I begin to move through the practice forms. Rhys perches on the fence, watching with a distant look in his eyes. After a few minutes, two males approach the ring. Devlon and the High Lord.

“Hello, Father,” Rhys says quietly. Devlon shoots us a sharp look, but I ignore it.

The High Lord looks Azriel and I up and down before turning to Devlon. “The War has reached our shores, and we can no longer ignore it. Assemble the warriors. They fly in the morning. The shadowsinger and my son will be coming with me.”

“Cassian is coming with me too,” Rhys says.

His father turns to look at him. “No. Now, come.”

Rhys jumps down from the fence and braces his feet. “There is no warrior here I trust more. Cassian is the best fighter I have ever seen, and I want him fighting by my side.”

“Your legion has no room for another warrior.” Birds erupt from the nearby trees as the ground shakes.

“I will make room.”

Devlon steps forward, glaring at me. “He is a bastard-born. He does not deserve the honor of fighting by your side. I will not break tradition for him anymore than I already have.”

A glare from Rhysand sends Devlon backing away a step. The High Lord moves until he stands a foot away from his son. The entire mountain trembles as darkness erupts from his body. “You  _will_ come with me, and your bastard friend will be sent to the front lines. I can always execute him right here, if that is what you would prefer.”

“Go ahead, Rhys,” I say.

He stares into his father’s eyes for a few moments before stalking past him. Azriel follows behind the High Lord, glancing at me over his shoulder. Rhys stops and waits for him, refusing to walk beside his father. “I expect to see you when this war is over, Cassian. That’s an order.”

I bow to him and watch as my friends vanish. I ignore the camp lord and the other warriors and return to Leina’s house. She lays her hand on my shoulder. “It will be alright.”

“Of course it will be. As Rhys said, I am the best fighter here.”

Leina smiles at me. “I have your pack ready. The warriors will be leaving in the morning. Take a hot bath and get some rest. Cauldron knows when you will sleep again.”

“Thanks.” A few hours later, I emerge from the warm bath room to a hot meal sitting on the table. Leina is nowhere to be found. I collapse into the bed as the sun is setting.

In the morning, a loud knocking on the door rouses me from sleep. I slip into my flying leathers and buckle my sword onto my back. Leina greets me at the bottom of the steps and throws her arms around me.  _It should be my own mother here, watching me go to war._

“Come back, Cassian,” she says. “It will be too quiet around here if you don’t.”

I embrace her back and head out into the cold morning. I join the other warriors in the middle of the camp, and I’m pointed to a legion made of mostly new recruits and bastards. I hold myself upright, refusing to let any emotion show on my face.  _Straight to the front lines. Where we belong._

After everyone is divided into their legions, the command to fly sounds. As one, we rise into the air. Red, blue, and green shields appear to protect the warriors from the cold. I leave mine down, savoring the chill air against my bare face and wings.

_“One day, you will lead my armies, Cassian.”_

_“Are you sure?”_

_“Why wouldn’t I be? You are the best fighter I’ve ever seen. They might not respect you now, but I know that they will in time. All you need is a chance to prove yourself.”_

_Well, Rhys, here is my chance. Here is a chance for us all to prove ourselves._

Devlon’s voice rises above the wind. “Forward! We fly to battle! We fly to glory!” 


End file.
